


Coffee

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is a Softie, Not Beta Read, POV Mycroft Holmes, could write the two of these falling in love for the rest of my life, mycroft discovering he actually doesn't hate coffee under certain cicumstances, they've been pining for each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Mycroft never drank coffee until he tasted Gregory Lestrade.





	Coffee

Mycroft never drank coffee until he tasted Gregory Lestrade.

Their first kiss occurred in the back of Mycroft’s car at some ungodly hour of the morning; both of them exhausted and running on caffeine.

(Mycroft on many cups of strong earl grey, Greg on an unhealthy amount of black coffee)

The last few days had come to a head an hour ago when Mycroft had helped Greg solve a case. The culprit had been apprehended, but not until after he’d thrown a punch at Greg, who was now sporting a black eye.  
At that point, Mycroft had stepped in and taken care of the man as Greg watched him in awe as he moved as though he was back in the field.

Greg stares out the window as London passes by, a pensive expression on his face.  
“Would you like to come back to mine for a nightcap?” Mycroft asks, sounding nervous despite himself.  
Greg turns his head, raising an eyebrow.   
Perhaps he hears what Mycroft is trying to ask, because he goes to take Mycroft’s hand in his own, his skin warm against Mycroft’s palm, intertwining their fingers.   
“I’d like that.” Greg murmurs, voice low.   
Mycroft feels a shiver go down his spine as Greg squeezes his hand, he glances across at Greg with hope in his eyes and Greg smiles at him, a tired, gentle smile that warms Mycroft from the inside. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft murmurs.   
Greg watches him with a gentle intensity that makes Mycroft’s heart stutter. “Hmm?”   
Mycroft feels like he’s suddenly been dropped into no-man’s-land, as with most conversation, it seems easier inside his mind. He’s thought about kissing the other man for years…since he saw the first surveillance footage, over and over and over, each day he managed to surprise Mycroft, each day Gregory Lestrade became more fascinating and enthralling. 

Greg holds his hand still, his thumb tracing circles across Mycroft’s skin, it’s encouraging.   
“May I kiss you?” He barely breathes the words that he’s longed to say since the beginning. He can barely hear his own words over the thudding of his heart in his ears.   
Greg doesn’t look surprised in the slightest, instead he grins, chocolate eyes shining, illuminated by the passing streetlights.   
Mycroft wants him more than he has ever wanted anything in his life.   
_Gregory_ his heart seems to whisper with each beat. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” He murmurs, unable to keep the smile from his face.   
“C’mere, love.” Greg’s voice is low and husky, it sets off a whole other array of reactions through Mycroft. 

Greg slides across the seat in one smooth movement. Mycroft is holding his breath, the reality of the situation singing through his veins.   
With every beat of his heart, he’s closer to Gregory.   
“My hero.” Greg whispers, caressing Mycroft’s cheek, the gentleness of his touch almost brings tears to Mycroft’s eyes. He brings his other hand to Mycroft’s other cheek. The smell of his aftershave is intoxicating.   
“Always had a feeling that wasn’t just an umbrella.” Greg’s eyes dance with amusement and fondness.   
  
Mycroft reaches for him, cupping Greg’s face in his hands, feeling yesterday’s stubble coarse under his fingers.   
Greg slowly brushes his thumb across Mycroft’s bottom lip, Mycroft forgets how to breathe. He forgets how to move.   
“Alright?” Greg asks, thumb still trailing over Mycroft’s lip, and Mycroft has to fight away the urge to suck it into his mouth.   
Mycroft manages to gather enough brain power to nod, which gifts him with another of Greg’s smiles. This one different…sultry, his eyes darker than usual: the pupils blown wide, his voice raspy with arousal. Greg bites his own lip and Mycroft can’t take the wait anymore, he closes the distance between them and kisses Greg as though he’s searching for air. 

It’s gentle at first, the press of warm lips, wandering hands.  
Mycroft’s hands curl into Greg’s hair; he’s been meaning to get a haircut, but now Mycroft is glad he hasn’t managed to yet, it’s the perfect length to run his fingers through.   
Greg’s hands trail down Mycroft’s arms, down his sides, coaxing and sure.   
Greg licks at Mycroft’s lips and Mycroft opens his mouth and his first taste of the other man will never be forgotten. 

Greg tastes bitter, Mycroft can taste the coffee that’s clearly been Greg’s only sustenance for the day. Mycroft wants more. His tongue explores Greg’s mouth, deepening the kiss further. It’s glorious.   
When they break apart for breath, Greg trails his lips along Mycroft’s neck, and burying his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, Mycroft can feel Greg’s teeth against his skin and can’t help the moan that escapes him. He holds Greg close, he never wants to let go. 

They don’t even entertain the idea of the nightcap. By the time they get inside the front door, their clothes start to scatter, their kisses become more exploratory. They guide themselves to the bedroom as though it’s a dance that’s been choreographed especially for them both, years in the making.

 

Mycroft wakes thanks to the light creeping under the curtains. He’s warm and safe within Greg’s arms which are wrapped around him.   
He rests his head on Greg’s chest, the hair tickling his cheek, the steady thrum of Greg’s heart might as well be an orchestra, hearing it so close definitely reminds Mycroft of the feelings he felt upon seeing his first live performance. 

Mycroft trails his hands down Greg’s torso, he feels Greg shift beneath him, a quiet moan that only encourages him more. Under his ear he can hear Greg’s heart quicken, smiling to himself he turns his head and kisses Greg’s chest, right above where he can hear his heart beat.   
Mycroft feels Greg’s fingers run through his hair, it sends shivers down his spine.   
“Well good morning to you too.” His voice is thick with sleep, that husky note sends sparks through Mycroft. 

“Got any coffee, love?” Greg asks as he walks into Mycroft’s kitchen, hair still wet and wearing a silk dressing gown of Mycroft’s, which clings to him sinfully. Mycroft nearly drops to his knees there and then, even the thought makes him blush.   
Greg only smirks, eyes glinting mischievously.   
When Greg reaches his side, he pulls him in for a kiss. He tastes of toothpaste now, Mycroft briefly misses the coffee, but he’s eager to learn all the things Greg could taste like.   
Greg smells of Mycroft’s shampoo, of Mycroft’s shower gel.   
It’s enough to make his head spin. 

They manage to separate for a moment when the kettle comes to a boil.   
There are two mugs sitting on the counter by the kettle, and Greg hums approvingly. “Coffee?”   
Mycroft frowns, how could he have forgotten this? He hadn’t anticipated Greg staying overnight, had never thought to buy in some coffee for those wishful ‘what if?’ daydreams.   
“I’m sorry, Gregory…”   
Greg chuckles, unbothered.He leans in to Mycroft, stealing another kiss. “Tea?”  
It takes Mycroft a few seconds to learn how to form words again. “Which kind?”   
Greg shrugs, “Tea is tea.”   
Mycroft bites his lip, gesturing to the cupboard above the kettle, a look of amusement on his face that seems to ignite Greg’s curiosity.   
When Greg opens the cupboard and sees the vast amount of different tins of tea leaves, all labelled in Mycroft’s cursive, he can only laugh. He throws his head back, and his laughter fills the once silent kitchen, and it sends a spark of glee throughout Mycroft, who joins in on the laughter.   
  
When their laughter subsides, Greg points at the cupboard. “Any recommendations?”   
Mycroft takes that as the invitation to come up behind Greg, wrapping his arms around him, he holds him close. “I’m highly biased towards the earl grey with the hint of lavender.” Mycroft admits, resting his chin on Greg’s shoulder.   
Greg hums, “Go ahead then, do your magic.” He moves away from Mycroft, cheekily slapping Mycroft’s arse as he reaches into the press for the tin of tea.   
Mycroft looks back at Greg in mock horror, which sets them both off again.   
While they’re waiting for the tea to brew, Mycroft finds himself kissing Greg again, hands skimming over the silk material of the dressing gown.   
Greg moans into the kiss, intentionally moving against Mycroft, his own hands untie Mycroft’s dressing gown, pushing it from his shoulders.   
They gaze at each other with tenderness and the words “Take me back to bed.” fall from his mouth easily, no hesitation.   
The tea is forgotten.

 

The next day at work, Anthea gives him a knowing look, but says nothing. The smirk on her face is enough.   
Mycroft spends some of his time sifting through reviews of coffee machines before calling Anthea in.   
“You’re something of a coffee aficionado, Anthea. Would you help me decide on a coffee machine?”   
Anthea raises an eyebrow, “Mycroft, you don’t drink coffee.” There’s amusement in her voice.   
“It’s not for me.” He says, though he thinks that he may not be as averse to the idea of drinking coffee now.   
“About time, isn’t it?” She asks as she pulls Mycroft’s laptop towards her, her fingers flying over the keys. When she returns the laptop to Mycroft, there’s a coffee machine on the screen that doesn’t look intimidating in the slightest.   
“Simple, quick, and results in some of the best coffee I’ve tasted from a home machine.”   
Mycroft orders it straight away. “Thank you.”   
“I’m sure he’ll love it. Probably would’ve settled for a tin of instant.” She chuckles at Mycroft’s face, “Only the best for the best though, am I right?”  
Mycroft nods steadily, and Anthea beams at him. “I’m happy for you both.” She winks at him before she leaves the room. 

 

The next time Greg finds himself in Mycroft’s kitchen, he whistles at the machine.   
Mycroft leans in to kiss the other man, “It would be hideous to force you to drink tea all the time.”   
Greg chuckles, eyes dancing with excitement. “Torturous.” He teases, he pulls Mycroft into a kiss by his tie.   
Mycroft stands by and watches Greg set up the machine and makes it work.   
Even now, the smell of coffee is enough to remind him of Greg.   
He even tastes some of Greg’s drink, further associating the man with coffee. When they retire to the sitting room, Greg has consumed his coffee. Mycroft couldn’t judge it, but Greg declared that it was wonderful.   
  
What’s really wonderful though, is Greg climbing into his lap, pushing him back into the cushions on the sofa. There’s a mischievous grin across his face, and his chocolate eyes are dancing with amusement.   
Mycroft finds it hard to breathe, his heart stutters worryingly in his chest.   
It strikes him that he’s never felt such pure happiness, he grins and pulls Greg into a kiss. It’s hungry and wanting.   
“Gorgeous.” Greg murmurs between kisses. He smiles at Mycroft, “Love getting to see you smile.” His fingers trail down Mycroft’s front, his eyes are darker now, and Mycroft feels almost breathless at the fact that _he_ can have this effect on the other man. 

Greg leans his forehead against Mycroft’s, his fingers slowly undoing his tie to let it fall from Mycroft’s neck. His eyes capture Mycroft’s, the gaze is unwavering, and Mycroft gladly gets lost in it.   
Mycroft is aware of Greg’s fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, he himself has already slid his hands under Greg’s shirt, tenderly caressing every inch of warm skin, learning every raised scar with each brush of his fingers.   
They’re still gazing at each other, their hands exploring each other’s skin. There’s no urgency to it, unlike their kiss a few minutes before.   
There’s an ease and familiarity to it, even though their physical relationship has just begun. Those many years of friendship and longing have blended together into the gentleness and sheer understanding of each other’s movements. 

Mycroft slowly teases over Greg’s right nipple, causing the other man to startle, suck in a gasp. He presses forward, capturing Greg’s lips in his own once again. He still tastes like coffee, and there’s something incredibly comforting about it.   
Mycroft can’t help the moan that escapes him when Greg’s fingers slowly wrap around his cock.   
He can feel Greg smile during their kiss, and Mycroft’s heart soars.   
Mycroft throws his head back when Greg strokes him slowly, his thumb rubbing over the head of his cock.   
Mycroft can hear Greg chuckle, and when he manages to open his eyes, he watches as Greg stares down between them, biting his bottom lip.   
It’s almost enough to completely undo him, but Mycroft’s hands focus on unbuttoning Greg’s shirt. “You’re wearing too much.” He whispers; knowing that speaking any louder would reveal the shake in his voice.   
Greg’s head raises to meet Mycroft’s eyes. His hand keeps its rhythm, his pupils are huge, his bottom lip slightly swollen from biting it. There’s unmasked lust and amusement across his face. “And this is coming from the man who wears three-piece suits daily, hm?” 

 

Mycroft is escorted to the parliament in Luxembourg, Anthea by his side in the car.   
It’s the first time that Mycroft’s had to travel in months, the first time that he and Greg will be apart for over a week since they started seeing each other.   
Anthea sighs heavily as they are guided into the all too familiar building. Mycroft passes her a knowing look, and she rolls her eyes.  
They pass by a reporter, who’s standing waiting for her camera crew to set themselves up. She has a large takeaway cup of coffee in her hand, and as they walk by, the smell of coffee hits Mycroft.   
Somehow it makes him homesick for Gregory, and he has never been one to even acknowledge the notion of homesickness.   
Is it still homesickness if the only ‘home’ he is longing for is a person, is that of Gregory?

After an unbearably long meeting watching politicians tear each other apart over Brexit, they are treated to lunch. Anthea sits beside Mycroft, “We’ll both need an incredibly long holiday after this.” She murmurs.   
Mycroft can only agree.   
“Monsieur Holmes?” An accented voice draws his attention. It comes from a waiter who looks just a little terrified of him.   
“Yes?”  
“We flew in your favourite tea, would you like some now or following dessert?”   
Mycroft watches him carefully, he can see the other caterers organising teas and coffees. “Actually, I think I’ll have a black coffee, please.”   
The look of surprise on the waiter’s face is matched by other politicians in his vicinity; many of them stop speaking with another, all wondering had they actually heard him correctly.  
Many of them have had to arrange for Mycroft’s particular brand of tea to be imported to their countries especially for the man.   
They had all heard the myth about the former secretary of state that hadn’t provided the requested tea and instead only offered coffee.   
They knew few things about Mycroft, but this they did know: He was more powerful than all of them combined, and that he _abhors_ coffee. 

The waiter quickly gathers himself and goes to fetch Mycroft some coffee.   
Anthea maintains her casually bored expression, but Mycroft can tell she’s beyond amused from the brief, knowing look she throws at him.   
Around the table, many of his colleagues stare at him with a mixture of confusion and thinly masked concern.   
When the waiter places the coffee in front of Mycroft, Mycroft thanks him quietly.   
He closes his eyes momentarily, inhaling the smell as it greets him.   
He sees Gregory in his mind’s eye, and feels some of the tension ease from his shoulders. He takes a careful sip, aware of the many pairs of eyes that are on him.   
The bitter, sharp taste of the strong coffee: a strength that would probably match Greg’s preference is oddly soothing.   
He knows that if he closes his eyes now, he could easily conjure the memories of Greg near him, touching him, kissing him.   
He hastily decides not to do that here, maybe later in the privacy of his own suite, after the promised skype conversation that they had agreed upon.   


 

Mycroft draws the line on airplane coffee though, no matter how much he longs for Gregory. Nothing could taste as horrific as that.   
“Apparently it’s so bad because they never clean out the coffee pots.” Anthea murmurs from his side, not looking up from her laptop.   
Mycroft gapes at her, “This is first class.” He whispers, feeling more than a little ill.   
She shrugs, still concentrating on the screen in front of her. “Same coffee for everyone, darling.”   
“Surely there are hygiene standards to keep.”   
“Everything is about turnaround times nowadays. Profit matters more than disgusting coffee.”  
Mycroft glares at the coffee in his hands, “It doesn’t even taste like coffee.”   
She snorts, “Good thing you’ll be seeing the Detective Inspector very soon then, isn’t it?”   
Mycroft can’t help but agree with that. 

 

It’s more than a pleasant surprise to see Gregory standing at the arrivals gate. He’s wearing a fitted jeans and a leather jacket, clearly on a day off. His hair is slightly spiked, and Mycroft’s mind immediately goes towards how it’ll feel to run his fingers through it.   
Greg’s holding a cup of coffee as his eyes scan the people emerging from the gate. When his eyes fall upon Mycroft, his resulting smile is enough to almost stop his heart.   
As Mycroft approaches him, he takes a last sip from the coffee, before throwing it in the bin. He moves forward to meet Mycroft, eyes shining and laughter lines pronounced.   
“Hey there, love.” He reaches out to pull Mycroft into a hug.   
Anthea takes Mycroft’s luggage and leaves them be. 

Mycroft practically melts into Greg’s warmth, into those familiar and longed for arms.   
“ _Gregory._ ” Mycroftsays the other mans name like a wish.   
“S’okay to kiss you here, love?” Greg’s breath is warm against his ear and it sends a spark through Mycroft’s body.   
“I want nothing more.” Mycroft replies.   
He hears a low chuckle before Greg pulls back enough to meet Mycroft’s lips with his own.   
“I’ve missed you dearly.” Mycroft murmurs sincerely following the chaste kiss.   
Greg’s answering grin is gentle, “I’ve missed you too. Want me to show you just how much?” The mischievous glint in Greg’s eye returns, and it has the power to speed Mycroft’s heart up until it thuds in his ears.   
Mycroft nods, an almost pleading look in his eyes.   
Greg leans in for another kiss, this one has the promise of so, so much more, and Mycroft can taste the coffee that Greg has just finished.   
“Car?” Is the only coherent word Mycroft can produce.   
Greg takes his hand, “‘Course, love.” 

No, coffee has never tasted so good. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something that was meant to be a ficlet but spiralled into this. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr/pillowfort/dreamwidth @lostallsenseofcontrol  
> I also use twitter @lostallsenseof1  
> (I mainly only use tumblr/twitter but it's no harm to mention the others)
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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